Port Stephens to the RMYC Broken Bay; The Final Saga.

Another of those will we, won’t we mornings. Over a fantastic one month anniversary, Indian meal the night previous, discretion had once again triumphed over valour and we’d collectively decided that Twin Spirit should enjoy the comparative comfort and safety of the D’Albora Marina at Port Stephens and wait for kinder winds before heading south on our final leg. They didn’t just have showers here for God’s sake; they had ‘Personal Care Units.’ This struck the crew as the best epithet they’d encountered since the bouncer at ‘Panthers’ Port Macquarie had described himself as an ‘Attitude Adjustment Officer.’
The knowledge that Sparrow and Hoover needed to jump a dodgy (I hope they’ve checked the oxygen bottles) Qantas flight to Hamilton Island on the 15th, brought some small pressure to bear but we all felt it best to wait out the relentless series of fronts moving through the ‘Tasman.’ If the situation didn’t improve, we’d hire a car to ensure Nick and Pam’s time frame was met. The Admiral and Lil thought they might even leave the boat in Port Stephens and use it as an excuse to come back and make a ‘nice’ little trip back to Pittwater at a warmer and calmer time.

Ah but the day dawned fair and bright and the strong wind warnings had been unreliable in the past, hadn’t they? It couldn’t blow as hard as yesterday could it? Hey it would be great to see the kids again and if we did get caught out in it, there were places to hide. Holes in the wall to duck into; Newcastle was only an hour or two away and Lake Macquarie not much further than that. There was always the dingy if the boat sank; we’d only just topped up the two-stroke. And if all else failed we could just step from whale back to whale back; “the fuckers are everywhere!” quoth The Admiral. It seemed we were all in the mood for the comforts of home.

We were out of the spectacular, almost Hawaiian, entrance to Port Stephens and heading south by 8.00am with a light, favourable Nor-Westerly breeze blowing across the beam and the engines pumping away happily to get us there that little bit faster. ‘8-Knots’ was well pleased with 9.5 and Sparrow gloved against the cold was grinning fit to burst at the helm. Lil was knitting ‘fingerless gloves,’ presumably for someone with no fingers and Hoover was searching the TV for another replay of the Olympic Games Opening Ceremony. It was looking good for a great run home.
We could smell Newcastle by 10.00 and we’d passed it by 12.00. Lake Macquarie’s trade mark power stations came over the horizon not long after and though the breeze was beginning to build and come round to head us we decided at around 1.30 as we reached Moon Island at the entrance to The Swansea Channel to press on.

By the time we made the Norah Head light it was blowing like the Admiral after two flights of stairs and we struck the headsail. At Bird-Rock we gave up on our remaining mainsail and punched into a very strong South Westerly wind sometimes gusting over 35 knots with bare poles. At Cape Three Points with only an hour and a half to run the chop set the auto-helm into panic mode again, Beeeep, Beeeep, “S-Talk Fail, S-Talk Fail.” “Hand steering again I’m afraid old thing.” Said The Admiral as Sparrow slipped on his ski gloves and assumed the position; head up and eyes watering in the freezing wind.
“Your fucking auto-helm is a Fag. You should call it fucking Nancy-Marine not RayMarine.” The plucky but irascible Sparrow shouted down to us. Lil who would at no point in the remaining journey have to expose herself to the cruelly cold wind or the sleet which was now whipping the boat, giggled, not a thing she often does, then helpfully suggested ‘Gay-Marine.’ The Admiral who loves his boat didn’t speak to her for the rest of the trip, save for a grudging “Thanks,” when presented with bourbon laced coffee during his last stint at the helm while passing beneath the lighthouse at ‘Barrenjoey.’



Our heartfelt good wishes to all the funny, fascinating and helpful folk we were fortunate enough to meet and spend time with along the way.

Pam and Nick,
Thank you for allowing us to high-jack your blog for a month. We respectfully hand it back enriched by the experience and the joyful collaboration.

Special thanks for your time, your talents, your strong livers, your good humour and your patience. Four definite and different adults in a confined space over four weeks, some would consider a dangerous social experiment at best, perhaps even punishment should things go wrong.

We’ve had the time of our lives and Lil, Nancy-Marine and I hope you’ll both come sailing with us again just as soon as we’ve re-stocked the fridges and fixed the auto-helm.

Dougie M

Admiral (retd.)



So the four sailed away for a month and a day on what happily turned out to be,

A fantastic escape from the ordinary on a whale infested sea!